


Lives Worth Livin’, and How to Live Them:

by saltslimes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, dad!Reyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:42:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8317780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltslimes/pseuds/saltslimes
Summary: Jesse McCree has never really relied on anyone for anything. And Gabriel Reyes is used to being relied on by soldiers, not wayward teenagers. But they're each trying like hell, and that counts for something.





	1. Chapter 1

Back alley behind the diner on route 66, Jesse McCree’s body lies sprawled out flat, blood spreading over the dusty earth, soaking into thirsty, never-saturated soil. Inside the cook cowers behind the counter but the owner, looking out the window, seeing the corpse, spits on his own floor.

“He’s dead.”

“Dead?” the cook asks, still crouched beside the sink.

“Serves him right, that scumbag. You know who’s out there drowned in a pool of his own blood?”

“No boss.”

“Leader of the Deadlock gang. Scumbag, through and through.”

A lizard scuttles over the dry rocks, pausing a moment. The blood spreading reaches the edge of them, like a tide rolling up the beach. Except, that never happened. Something else happened, way back when.

 

*

 

Worst part? Okay. Jesse’s always been an optimist, at least on the outside. But everyone is made out of balance, and so there’s a counterweight inside him. Worst part. In any situation, he picks it out. If you know the worst part, you know your enemy. That’s what they told him in Deadlock. Know your enemy. So Jesse makes sure to know.

Worst part? He doesn’t know the worst part right now. It might be the handcuffs biting into the skin on his wrists, might be the smarting black eye, might be the throbbing memory of the guy he clipped in the neck when the shooting started—no one’s eyes have ever been that wide before, probably—it might be that they took his damn hat. His hat! It might be that he’s thinkin’ about a hat, when there’s thicker, nastier problems at hand. It might be that he’s got blood under his fingernails. The rest rubbed off but the stuff under his fingernails ain’t goin’ anywhere, and there’s no way really for him to pick it out with the cuffs on.

He smells it on his jacket. It’s making him want to puke. And then the door opens and a guy strides in looking like Phaethon as the horses went wild. Blonde hair, square jaw and an expression like he is holding the reins to a chariot he cannot drive.

The guy sits down across from him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment or two. Know your enemy, Jesse thinks. As best he can while cuffed the way he is, he squares his shoulders.

 

*

 

Behind the glass, Gabe watches the kid set his jaw. No way Morrison will get him to talk. Jack has all the gifts, but interrogation is not his strong suit. He needles in the wrong places and he pulls punches in the wrong moments.

Jack says something animatedly. The kid mumbles something. Jack leans over the table. The kid spits in his face!

“Oh!” Gabriel cries, a laugh already forcing itself out of him. He slaps the glass hard enough for it to echo in the room. Jack looks over sharply. A moment later he is on the other side of the glass with Gabe, fuming.

“This man is a total piece of shit,” Jack mutters.

“Man? He's a kid, I bet you he's not even eighteen,” Gabriel says. Jack raises a doubtful eyebrow. Then he pushes the button for the intercom.

“Hey, how old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” the kid answers immediately. Jack motions to Gabriel, as if to say: see? Gabriel just rolls his eyes. He leans over and pushes the button.

“Ha-ha, very funny. How old are you really?”

There's a stretch of silence. The kid tugs uselessly at the handcuffs.

“We can wait all day, but someone told me there's a hat around here that you were very upset to part with. I'd hate to see it get mixed up with the trash,” Gabriel says.

“Seventeen!” The kid spits out. He yanks hard against the handcuffs. “Who threatens a man’s hat?”

Gabe takes his finger off the button, and raises his eyebrows at Jack, who has pressed a hand to his mouth. His lips are drawn in a thin line of exasperation.

“So we know that now,” Gabriel says. Jack swears under his breath.

“This day just keeps getting better,” he grumbles. “Now I get to send a seventeen year old to prison.”

Gabe glances through the glass again and thinks. Maybe there's a second answer. Not necessarily a better one. But a second answer.

“Where are _you_ going?” Jack asks when he starts for the door. Gabe shrugs.

“Give the kid some options,” he merely says.

 

*

 

Commander Reyes gives Jesse a choice. No, he gives Jesse an order--but it's dressed up like an option. Prison or Blackwatch, which he has never heard of. It's Overwatch’s covert strike team, apparently.

“I've never heard of no Blackwatch,” Jesse says. Reyes gives him a look. “So I'm guessin’ you're fairly good at yer job then,” Jesse admits.

What choice does he have, honestly? Prison isn't a prison sentence after Deadlock, it's a death sentence.

“And I'll have to work for you?” Jesse asks. Reyes dips his head. “Any chance I'll get my gun back?” At this, Reyes grins.

 

*

 

The kid is skinny like hell. He’s like a bundle of wires strung together. As soon as he’s uncuffed and his stupid hat has been returned to him, Gabe escorts him down to the (mostly) empty mess hall, and gets him some food. The kid eats like he hasn’t seen an actual meal in days and doesn’t expect to see one again soon.

“Slow down. If you lose a finger I’m not hauling you to the med-bay,” Gabe tells him. He just snorts and continues eating.

“Gabriel!” a yell echoes across the room, and Gabe looks up to see Fareeha, pointing at him with an expression like she has a debt of honor to kill him. Her tone had that echo of “we meet again” to it, too. Gabriel cracks a grin despite himself.

“Why’s there a kid here, boss?” McCree asks.

“She’s Captain Amari’s daughter. And you’re not exactly an adult yourself,” Gabe says. McCree rolls his eyes.

“I’m seventeen,” he says, as if that’s the oldest anyone can get. Fareeha crosses to their table and lobs a juice box at McCree’s head. He catches it out of the air.

“Watch it!”

“Good reflexes,” Fareeha says, placing her hands on her hips. “You can keep that,” she adds.

“Thanks,” McCree mumbles.

“Where’s your mom?” Gabe asks.

“Talking to Reinhart. Who’s the cowboy?” she asks, climbing over the table to drop into a seat beside Gabriel.

“New recruit. What do you think?” Gabe asks. McCree’s scowl deepens.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Fareeha says.

“You haven’t seen him shoot, though.”

“Good as my mom?”

“He’s not a sniper.”

“Ah.”

“Quit talkin’ about me like I ain’t here,” McCree says. Fareeha gives him a long look, like she is weighing him in her mind.

“I like him. The hat is good,” Fareeha says. Gabe doesn’t miss the smile that almost cracks McCree’s face before he recovers himself.

“The hat is _great_ ,” McCree mutters under his breath. Gabriel laughs.

 

*

 

Jesse is one of those kids who sneezes twice every morning. That's just how he was built. His ma used to laugh about it. It usually happens in his room while he's pulling his pants on. Sometimes Reyes busts in with coffee while he's still hiding under the covers and he sneezes twice once he sits up, slopping coffee from the mug over his blanket.

Reyes will just snort and roll his eyes.

This morning he's sneezed four times in the hallway alone--he hasn't even made it to the training room yet. His head feels like it's full of cotton. Also, his chest feels like a bag of rocks. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and tries to straighten up better.

Reyes is a big guy but he's quiet, and from time to time he’ll appear behind Jesse and tell him--in none too friendly a tone--to stand up straight, _soldier_.

He eats breakfast quickly. The mess hall is already emptied out, although captain Amari is lingering at a corner table, flipping through reports. She's been at the base all week and wherever she is Fareeha is not far behind. Jesse doesn't see her today though, which means she might well be somewhere distracting Reyes by insisting they spar.

But it's best not to trust his luck, so he finishes shovelling down a breakfast that tastes like nothing in particular and then books it for the training room.

“Good luck,” Ana calls after him. He turns to give her a quick salute on his way out the door.

 

Commander Morrison is in the training room when he gets there. He's talking to another one of the Blackwatch agents, but he turns when Jesse enters.

“You here fer me?” Jesse asks, keeping the waver out of his voice. He's not afraid. If Jack Morrison is gonna take him to prison, and it's all fallen apart, he'll deal with it.

“Overseeing your training. Just for this morning. I want to see how you're progressing,” Morrison says. Jesse breathes a sigh of relief. It comes out of him like syrup.

Morrison punches a code into the controls of the training bots. Jesse starts shooting. After the first round, Morrison steps back into the room, gives him a few pointers.

“Stand up straighter,” he says, and Jesse is grateful that Reyes isn't there to hear that.

He's also curious though. Where is Reyes? From what Jesse’s seen, which admittedly isn't much, he never misses a chance to stand close to Morrison and glare at him. He asks one of the other agents while he's swapping weapons at the locker.

“Oh, he's talking to more Overwatch suits,” the agent tells him. Makes sense.

“S’it cold in here?” Jesse asks. The agent gives him a look, like he said something stupid.

He goes out on the floor and misses three out of ten targets. He can see his worth in Morrison's eyes dribbling down the drain.

“Keep practicing,” he tells Jesse, and gives him a curt nod. The pistol, hot in his hands, feels as heavy as a corpse.

Jesse takes Morrison’s advice, spends the next few hours firing and reloading. Rather than improving, his shots seem to be getting worse. He swears under his breath, reloading. The weapon is sticky in his hand, sweat slick on the barrel. His head rings with gunfire echoes. He doesn't hear the door open.

He's lining up a shot when he notices Reyes standing beside him, arms crossed, eyes on the targets. He half lowers the gun.

“Well? Go ahead and show me,” Reyes says. Jesse fires, once twice, fuck it, fans the hammer. Shots tinkle on the floor. He sees Reyes move and he flinches slightly. Reyes presses the back of his hand to Jesse’s cheek, then moves it to his forehead. Jesse blinks, almost drops the gun in surprise. “You're burning up, _mijo_ ,” he says softly.

“Why’d you come to training?” he asks. “You could have told Morrison you were sick.”

Jesse looks at the floor.

“Ain't it all conditional?” he asks. “Don't wanna mess up my…” Colors have faded out, although he's sure that's a momentary thing. And then his knees buckle and Gabriel catches him, iron grip on his forearm so he doesn't drop face-first into the training room floor. He hears Reyes swear, distantly. “Chances,” he mumbles.”

“You can walk? Come on _mijo_ , with me,” Reyes says, and plucks the gun from Jesse’s limp grip. In the hallway Jesse’s ears are burning and he knows it's not fever but embarrassment. Reyes picked him for a soldier but this is what he gets. Weakness. Like a child. A tear oozes out of Jesse's eye, tracks down his burning face. He keeps his eyes fixed on the floor.

Reyes pulls his keycard and opens the door before Jesse has the chance to fumble for his. Inside, he stumbles to his bed and sits down hard.

“Take your boots off,” Reyes says. Jesse leans down to fumble with the laces. Reyes snags a half empty water glass off the shelf and steps into the bathroom. Jesse feels his stomach crawl into his throat. He swipes the trash can from beside his bed and hurls into it. The can is empty, so the sound of puke spattering on the bottom echoes loud. Reyes pokes his head back into the room and sighs.

_What a disappointment you must look like,_ Jesse thinks. He coughs once into the trash can, and hears a soft sound as Reyes sets the glass of water down beside his bed, and then feels the dip in the mattress when Reyes sits down beside him.

“It's okay. Let it out,” he says. Jesse spits into the bucket. Tears cling to his lashes from the force of puking. There's snot running into his mouth. He feels a hand on his back, steadying. “It's okay, _mijo_. You're okay,” Reyes says. Jesse wants to keep crying. After a moment or two, Reyes gently takes the can from him and sets it down.

Jesse curls in on himself, but Reyes steers him in to his side, wraps a big arm around his shoulders.

“M’sorry,” Jesse mumbles, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. He's shaking. And Reyes is hugging him like--like a kid, but he doesn't have the strength to pull himself free and even if he did, he doesn't have the will.

“It's okay. You're okay,” Reyes just repeats.

Jesse dozes off without meaning to, but he wakes up someone brushing hair from his slick forehead. His eyelids are too heavy to lift, so he lets himself slide back to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse loses a tooth and probably his mental stability while on a transport ship.

The transport ship buzzes. On liftoff it roars like a sandstorm and on landing it rattles like a rollar coaster giving up the ghost but when in flight it makes this buzzing humming noise that itches at the back of Jesse’s mind. It makes him wary, thinking of yellow jackets dug into the earth behind the back step at his childhood home. Sandy asphalt and thick yellow summer.

The transport is cold-heavy. Every time they lift off Jesse can feel the whole thing tugging down around him, pinned to the earth and fighting so hard it breaks its bonds. Reminds him of handcuffs, metal table, the sharp smell of defeat.

“McCree. Hey.” Someone snaps their fingers in front of his face. Jesse blinks. One of his fellow agents is glaring at him. “Dump your weapon. We’re about to take off,” he says. Jesse ducks his head in acknowledgement and goes quickly to stow his gun. The other agents don’t like him, and they don’t make a secret of it. They don’t like being outshot by a kid. They don’t like working with someone who was Deadlock. They extra don’t like working with a kid who killed one of their own. And Jesse likes it probably less.

He still thinks about that guy, in the gut-hours of the night, when dark is a thing rather than an absence of light.

As he walks back to his seat he tastes blood on the back of his tongue. Jarred something loose maybe, probably that hit he took to the face--guy got him with the butt of his gun. One of the other agents slides into his seat before he can get there and gives him a fake-apologetic grin.

“Sorry. Taken,” he says. Jesse wants to spit something back but he thinks there’s a chance the thing he’ll be spitting is blood. So instead he looks for the next available seat. There’s only one left--almost everyone else is sitting already. It’s the second last on the row--next to Reyes.

The commander is reading something on a holopad. He doesn’t look up when Jesse sits down.

Jesse assumes that Reyes hasn’t even noticed him, but then--

“Put your seatbelt on, vaquero.” The man has better peripherals than an omnic. Jesse buckles up. They lift off--sound like the ocean pounding on the doors to be let in--and then they’re flying, and that noise (he buzz Jesse never remembers until he hears it) starts up. He takes his hat off and runs a hand through sweat-slick hair. His jaw is throbbing now, as adrenaline ebbs. Blood in his mouth.Ugh. 

For something to do, he picks open the scabs on his knuckles. He is levering a thick one away from his index finger when Reyes puts away the holopad and sighs.

“How’d you do out there?” he asks. Jesse hesitates to answer.

“Fine.” There’s blood on his teeth when he finally swipes his tongue over them and there, now that he’s probing--his tooth is broken. One of the molars at the back. Something--maybe the drag of the ship that wants so desperately to be on earth, makes him too tired, unwilling to accept that this is something he has to actually deal with.

“Didn’t run out of ammo like last time?” Reyes asks. Jesse shakes his head. They sit in silence for a few moments. “So who took your seat?” Reyes asks, after moment. His posture is as relaxed as you can get in these seats, and his tone is casual. Jesse glances down the row at the other agents.

“No one,” he says. And Reyes laughs.

“That’s as good as the time you told me you were twenty.”

“I could be!” Jesse blurts out. When he swallows the taste of blood gags him, and he lurches forward in the seat, afraid he’s gonna lose his lunch.

“McCree?” Reyes says, tone somewhere between dubious and concerned. Jesse drools blood onto to the floor, coughs a few times. “ _ Jesse _ ?”

“S’fine,” Jesse says, waving to him even as he coughs again. I’m not gonna puke on this ship, he tells himself. There’s the feeling of a minuscule snap, and Jesse spits broken tooth into his hand. “Ugh,” he mumbles.

“That a tooth, McCree?”

“Sorry boss.”

“What’re you apologizing to me for?” Reyes asks. His tone is almost back to joking again, which Jesse almost-kind-of resents.

“Spitting on the floor?” he offers. Reyes outright laughs. He digs around in one of his pockets and then hands over a tissue. Jesse wipes his mouth and then folds the tooth up in it.

“What’re you, fifty? Carryin’ tissues around with you,” he says. Reyes just shakes his head.

“What’re you, five? Spitting teeth out on my ship?” He’s got Jesse there, so he laughs. It comes out a little shaky, a little hoarse. Reyes squeezes his shoulder, once. 

“Anything else broken I should know about?” he asks. Jesse shakes his head. “Good man.” Jesse’s tongue snakes up in his mouth to find the hole, but he stops himself. Clenches his jaw in place. He’s gonna wait out this ride and then he’ll wait out this raw hole in his mouth and then he’ll wait out being seventeen, which is like a sucking wound in and of itself, and it has to stop, he’s sure, because something’s gotta break, and if it ain’t everything else it might be him.

At his side, Reyes has his eyes back on the holopad, and he looks like Daedalus when the wings began to melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me updating this fic at 4 am like some kind of maniac. I said I probably wouldn't do a second chapter but I was struck by this while reading very ooc fic and waiting for some potatoes i was cooking. Hopefully this is not ooc, or at least not as ooc as the fic I was reading. anyways boom pow g'night

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this fic could be longer, but I kind of got done with working on it. There's a ghost of a second chapter somewhere in my mind that I might work on if I get time. Hope you enjoyed this piece anyways!


End file.
